


Crooked, Megawatt Grin

by Tan_lines



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Complete, Gen, Hallucinating Sam Winchester, Hell Trauma, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester on Demon Blood, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, Trauma, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26125255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tan_lines/pseuds/Tan_lines
Summary: (Alternate Canon)Dean is in Hell. But Sam still sees his brother wherever he goes.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twowolvesinatrenchcoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowolvesinatrenchcoat/gifts).



Sam sat over Dean for what felt like hours, minutes, years. He stared into the too-green, too-glassy eyes, hoping they would blink up at him, hoping they would focus on his face.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, heard a gruff voice. But still Dean's lips did not move, they did not curl into that crooked, megawatt smile that was his alone.

"We need to go Sam." 

Bobby was wrong. He couldn't leave his brother, he was too injured to be moved. Thick blood flowed sluggishly through Dean's shirt and over Sam's hands. Bobby tried to pull him away, but he latched on, gripping Dean's jacket and refusing to let go.

"Sam, please," the voice was strained with emotion… so far away.

But Sam didn't move. He heard sirens, low and quiet but coming closer. He felt a piece of broken wood make contact with the back of his head. He felt his body slump over Dean's and his vision fade to darkness.

He woke up on Bobby's couch. But he needed to find Dean, Dean was injured.

Bobby was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, holding a beer and staring at nothing. His clothes were stained and wet, and dirt was packed under his fingernails. He barely glanced as Sam entered the room.

"Where is he? Where is he Bobby?" Sam's voice was still hoarse from screaming. Somewhere, distantly, he wondered how much time had passed.

"On the pyre."

Without another word, Sam ran outside, leaving the screen door slamming and Bobby yelling behind him.

The pyre was set up on the edge of the forest, sick orange sunrays halloed the broken branches like Hellflame. Hell. Dean was not in Hell.

On top of the pile, on a bed of softer moss, lay Dean. His eyes were closed and his arms were crossed over his chest.

Sam climbed up and lifted him from the center, almost falling as he made his way back down, cradling his brother to his chest.

Bobby found him leaning against the tree, still holding the corpse. Resting under the last glimpses of the setting sun.

"We're not burning him Bobby. I won't let you burn my brother."

Bobby tried to reason with him. It was a hunter's funeral, it was what Dean would've wanted, it was safe and would give them closure. Bobby knew some of these were lies, but he didn't care. He just wanted to get the image of Sam holding a rotting body out of his head. 

But Sam refused. The flames wouldn't take his brother like they took Mom, Jess, Dad. They wouldn't have him.

Sam led Bobby deeper into the forest, almost to the next town. He sent Bobby for a coffin, and began to dig.

He dug until Bobby returned, and they laid Dean in the box with care. Sam didn't let Bobby cover it with dirt. He could bury his own brother. He didn't want Bobby to know he only made the hole three feet deep. They had been trained to climb out at six, but Dean was weaker than normal. Sam didn't want him to overexert himself.

Bobby gave a eulogy. Sam said nothing. Bobby asked him why he buried Dean. Sam told him he'd need his body when he got him back.

Bobby watched as Sam left in the Impala. He threw his phone out the window.

Sam summoned demons. Because that's what you did. Sam killed demons. Because he hated demons and they kept telling him his brother was Dead. Not Dead. He was bringing him back.

Sam drank. Because that's what you did. The soft static of liquor filled his head until there was no room for the endless screams of his brother being ripped apart. He was bringing him back.

He thinks he did. It was an old spell, Celtic. Even the witch he stole the book from told him it wouldn't work, told him next to nothing could drag a soul out of Hell. But she was wrong. He watched as the dog writhed over the bronze bowl, a steady stream of blood fountaining from it's neck. The anesthetics must have worn off. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Dean walked through the doors. He wanted to cry. Dean was there at last and smiling at him like only Dean could. That crooked, megawatt grin. 

He came with Sam on hunts. He couldn't hold a gun, couldn't hold Sam when a poltergeist threw him against a wall, but he was there.

Late at night, when Sam was in the motel where the clerk looked at him weird, (He assumed because he got two beds. Dean was standing right next to him, but the clerk didn't look. Maybe he thought they were gay.) He would talk to Dean.

He would tell him that he missed him, missed being able to touch him and make sure he was alright. But he was glad that he was here. Dean would smile, that crooked, megawatt grin, and Sam would fall asleep under his gaze.

It was the werewolf that got him. Raked it's claws along his ribs and tore him open. He begged Dean for help, but his brother just stood there, with that stupid, crooked, megawatt grin on his face.

Sam woke up in a hospital and cried at the face he saw looking down on him. It wasn't his brother. He knew that now. The spell hadn't really worked. The man who found him and saved him was named Tom. Sam thanked him and left, before the police arrived.

He shot the witch in the head three times as Not-Dean watched. Not-Dean was in his head. Not-Dean did not stop him.

Ruby came back. She saved him too. He was tired of being saved. He let his mind come up with some way to insult her, send her away, but she always came back.

She said she wanted to help him. Not-Dean only smiled, watched. He told her no and she left. She found him again the next day.

She offered him a drink. It was red and thick and sweet. She told him it would send Not-Dean away, the same way alcohol sent away the screams. It did.

The buzz was fuller, louder. It filled not just his head but his whole body. Traveled across his veins like humming venom, and he loved it. He didn't see Not-Dean.

But the buzz was too loud, and the drink too sweet. She never gave him much, and he was both sad and grateful. Sometimes he missed Not-Dean.

She wanted him to exorcise demons. He tried because he hated demons, but it hurt. It brought back the screams. He stopped for a while but she kept pushing. Eventually even those were silent.

Then Not-Dean came back. Bobby was behind him. Maybe it was Not-Bobby. Maybe he was just worse. But Bobby and Not-Dean wanted to be let in, so he opened the door.

Not-Dean hugged him and Sam hugged back. It was nice, feeling his brother's arms around him again. He leaned in and let the smell of leather, mint and oil surround him once more.

Ruby said his mind was stronger now. He knew that she must be right because Not-Dean was holding him, almost like real Dean. 

But real Dean was in Hell, where Sam had put him. So when Not-Dean smiled - that crooked, megawatt grin - when he said "I'm back Sammy," Sam just smiled.

"Don't worry," Sam said. "Dean will be back soon. I'm bringing him back."

And Sam watched as the crooked, megawatt grin slipped off his Not-Brother's face.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp I did it. Not super proud, might edit it somewhere down the line. Hope you enjoy time-jumps, angsty Dean and 3am madness.

Dean had started getting worried when he met up with Bobby. Scratch that, he had been worried ever since he crawled out of a shallow grave in the middle of nowhere after spending forty years in Hell.

He had found the payphone and had called every number Sam ever had. All were disconnected. He had almost cried in relief when he found that he was close to Bobby's place. 

The old man had tried to kill him, but he really should've expected it. He had almost forgotten about monsters and ghosts and coming back from the dead.

But he was immune to silver and salt and holy water, and a hug from Bobby had never felt so good.

But when he brought up Sam… Bobby just stared at him in pity and shame. For a moment, Dean thought that Sam had died.

\-----

"What do you mean you haven't spoken to him in months, it's Sam!"

"Don't yell at me boy, you know damn well I wouldn't have shut him out. Hell, I did my damnedest to reason with the kid. But he wasn't seeing reason. Insisted we buried you, than ran off."

"You looked for him though? You have to know something!"

"Well I got leads but that's about it. Even crazy with grief that boy is a damn fine Hunter. He knows how to cover his tracks. And since he threw out all his phones I'm assuming he don't wanna be found."

"Alright then. We'll look into those leads, track any patterns. If we get desperate I'll try and put out an APB. I need to find him Bobby."

"I know son, I know."

\-----

Dean tried his best not to dwell on what else Bobby had said. Drank all the moonshine in Bobby's cabinet to forget that Sam had promised he'd bring him back. Well, to forget that and other things.

Most of the leads were crap, leading not to his brother, but a hell of a lot of other tall, long-haired hunters. He wanted to punch them all. 

His body itched for a breakthrough, a fight, a shot of whiskey... anything. Sleep was his enemy, to be feared and hated. Even when he was hacking into police databases and looking for a sign of a hunter presence (because Sam had to have been hunting still. Not Dead, and not off living a normal life without him.) He felt like he was sitting on his thumbs.

Sometimes, Bobby forced him out. For a supply run, for a hunt, for just a damn drive to try and make him relax. Nothing really worked, not when the brother he'd died for was in the wind.

Almost a week and a half after he crawled out of Hell, Sam was still missing and Dean was climbing the walls. Then, Rufus called.

He saw Bobby grab the phone, saw his face pale, and he silently demanded him to put it on speaker. Bobby complied, asking Rufus to say it again for Dean's sake.

"Go ahead Rufus."

"I said I found him. At least I'm pretty sure. Hunter in the area let me know. Far as I heard he was hanging with some chick, did an exorcism or two while in town."

Dean was almost ripping the phone from Bobby's hand in desperation.

"Goddammit, where Rufus?!"

“Lebanon, Kansas. Some crappy motel by the name of ‘Poppy Court’. Sounds like he’s been there a day or so, but you better hurry just in case.”

Bobby took over again, gently peeling Dean’s white-knuckled grip off his phone. “We will. Thanks Rufus, I owe ya one.”

Before he had even hung up the phone, Dean was bent over a map, trying to calculate the time it would take to drive from South Dakota to Kansas. Bobby sighed, and went to help.

\-----

They had left Bobby’s mere minutes after Rufus’ call, Dean packing the Impala like a knock-off Tasmanian Devil. It was over 300 miles to Kansas, and he thought he could make it in about 5 hours if he pushed it. And by Hell did he push it.

“Damn boy, are ya trying to get us killed?” Bobby yelled as they raced paced another SUV that was laying on the horn, his hand on the door handle like he was going to jump out. Dean had only gone below 70mph on the curves, but even then he barely lifted his foot off of the accelerator. He didn’t know what he would do if he got there and didn’t find Sam. 

He pulled into the tiny parking lot of the motel, tires screeching as he took the turn at double the speed limit. He didn’t bother to see if he was in an actual parking spot. There was a beat as both Dean and Bobby sighed in relief, before Dean was throwing open the door and sprinting to the ‘lobby’, if one could call it that.

The clerk was young and apathetic, merely mumbling a room number to the frantic Winchester as he barged in, not even glancing up from his magazine.

They found the door in under a minute, and Dean just couldn’t believe it. He knew his brother was in there. There was a feeling, deep in his bones, an intangible tug. He looked to Bobby, who just smiled at him, nodding.

He knocked on the door, breath hitching in this throat. 

The man before him was barely recognizable, but it was Sam. Four months older and a lot worse for wear, but Sam. Same striking face, now marred with uneven stubble like he had shaved with a fork. Same expressive hazel eyes, just shadowed with deep purple and blue bruises. Same overgrown body, though Dean could see small tremors working down from his shoulders.

He choked back a sob, and threw his arms around his brother. He could feel Sam hug him back, both lost in the feeling of togetherness he could’ve sworn Hell had made him forget. But he could also feel Sam trembling in his embrace, so he pushed him back to arms length to look at him again, hands still on his brother’s arms.

He could’ve sworn he saw the beginning of tears in his eyes, despite the full dimple smile, so he patted him on the shoulder, trying to reassure him.

“I’m back Sammy,” and it was true, he was out of Hell and with his brother and for the first time everything was right with the world.

Then Sam grabbed his hand, still smiling.

“Don’t worry, Dean will be back soon. I’m bringing him back.”

\-----

_ No, no no no no _ . He held his brother’s face in his hands.

“Dammit Sam, I’m right here! I’m real!”

Bobby sat across from them, hands in his lap, face unreadable as Dean tried to reason with the man he had given his life for.

It had been near an hour since they had made the heart-stopping realization. Sam didn’t think that Dean was real. He kept calling him Not-Dean, had told him to go away so he could focus on bringing his real brother back until Dean was so frustrated he was pulling his own hair out. Silent tears were now streaming down Sam’s face, and he was muttering nonsense.

“You’re supposed to go away, it made you go away, shouldn’t have stopped… but it was bad, evil. I’m evil. Gotta get him back, Dean’ll save me… In Hell, put him in Hell... not real… not here…”

Dean wanted to scream at his brother, to punch sense into him. But he knew that this wasn’t a problem he could solve with his fists.

His voice was quiet but sharp when he spoke again, in harsh contrast to the broken yelling that had filled the room only minutes ago.

“Help me get him in the car Bobby. We’ll take him back to your place. You have books on this sort of thing, yeah?”

“Yeah. I got a place we can put ‘im too, at least until he’s better.” Bobby’s voice was equally quiet, though less in control. He couldn’t bear to see the man he loved like a son quivering in a mangled heap on a cheap motel couch.

Together they supported him from under his shoulders, helping him walk out to the Impala. He folded into the back seat like a limp doll, eyes shut and blissfully quiet.

The drive was silent, but no less tense. Dean once again abusing the pedal as they raced back across state lines, stopping only twice for gas. He could feel sleep pulling at his eyelids, and saw both Sam and Bobby resting beside him, but he couldn’t slow down. They made the distance in record time.

It was nearly 3am when they got to the scrapyard, and it was a long stumble to the front door, then Bobby’s basement. In any other situation, Dean would’ve been impressed at the huge room with iron walls and devils traps - it was a perfect panic room, complete with a hot poster on the wall. But his only words were reassurances, his only focus the boy in his arms.

They laid him on the thin, metal-framed bed in the center and stepped back. The slow beat of the fan above them matched the rhythm of their hearts.

\-----

They had made progress. Incredible progress. Dean had barely had time to think of himself, or how he got out of Hell. Every waking moment was focused on grounding Sam, convincing him of reality. They had good days and bad days, like with anything he supposed. 

The first few days had been… absolutely terrible. Sam woke up screaming, thrashing and fighting. Bobby got a split lip before they ended up handcuffing him for their own safety. Then, he had begged. Begged for Dean and begged for Ruby, for forgiveness and something else. Dean sat next to him and rubbed circles with his thumbs on the back of Sam’s hands, unable to look him in the eyes.

After a while though, Sam stopped calling him Not-Dean, agreed to eat, and stopped trying to bolt. They undid the handcuffs, and Bobby made them beef stew to eat together and talk. Dean found himself thanking whatever powers-that-be when Sam started joking around and bitching at him. It was almost like he had never went to Hell.

But Sam refused to talk about the details of his months topside. Dean wanted to ask about Ruby, about him hunting demons when he clearly wasn’t functioning properly. Damn, he wanted to interrogate his brother. But Sam was stubborn, always had been.

Even when they were found by an angel - a freaking angel - Sam still didn’t talk. When the same angel sent Dean into the past and told him to  _ stop _ Sam, he spoke but Dean could tell he was only giving him half-truths and empty promises. Sam seemed determined to focus on Dean, what he was going through and what they had to do. 

Save the seals, stop Lilith. 

Dean only wished that he could understand the person his brother had become. 

In the darkest parts of the night, when Sam was asleep and Dean sat in some no-name motel bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror, trying to bury the Hellfire behind his eyes that flared every time he closed them, Dean thought. He saw the coldness in his brother's face when he ganked monsters, and he thought. He watched as the angels who pulled him out of hell sneered at Sam and forced Dean to torture, and he thought. He wondered, wondered if maybe his brother was supposed to die in Cold Oak. Wondered what would've happened if he had just let it be.

He splashed water in his face, and prayed. Not to God, or the angels with sticks up their asses. He prayed to whatever twisted fate or destiny that controlled their family. He prayed that they would make it out of this in one piece, and that he had done the right thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally got around to a part 2, thanks for your comments!


End file.
